


Coping

by Amuly



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-18
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Before it was Ianto’s flat. Then it was their flat. Now it is just a flat.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Not Coming Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before it was Ianto’s flat. Then it was their flat. Now it is just a flat.

Jack stepped into their flat. His flat. The flat…he turned around and started to walk away.

“Jack! Jack! No, no no no no no. Turn around. You are not leaving me to do this on my own!”

Jack took a breath, blinking tears out of his eyes. He turned back to look at Gwen, who was staring him down. Tears glistened in her eyes, and Jack had to quell his instinct to turn and run. He just wanted to get as far away as he could: from the memories of him, and the smells, and the sights…

Jack clenched and unclenched his hands. “Okay. Okay.” 

He walked past Gwen, back into… _a_ flat. It wasn’t their flat anymore, or his flat, or even _the_ flat. Just _a_ flat. As Jack’s eyes roamed over everything inside, memories bubbled to the surface. Jack could tell himself it was just _a_ flat, but it still felt like _their_ flat. It still felt like Ianto was going to walk through the door any minute, make him coffee, grumble about the new Bond movie, or entice him into the bedroom. Shit. The bedroom.

“Gwen, why don’t…” Jack swallowed and opened his eyes wide, as if that would stop the tears. “Why don’t you start working on the living room? I’ll…” Jack’s eyes lingered on the bedroom door. “I’ll do the bedroom.”

“Sure, Jack.” Gwen handed over a stack of cardboard boxes. He took them, his hand lingering on the Torchwood logo emblazoned on the side of each one. He looked up when he heard Gwen walk away into their living room. His living room. The living room. Jack wiped a hand over his face, sniffling loudly. Then he turned and went into the bedroom, boxes in hand.

Once he stepped into their…Ianto’s…the bedroom, Jack shut the door behind him. He slumped against it, the hard wood supporting him: a firmament desperately needed right now. He looked around. It was just as they left it, that last morning. Before he…before the world went to shit. Before he, Jack, went to shit.

_“Jack, come on. Get dressed.”_

_ “But Ianto…” _

_ “No, we have to go.” _

_ “What time is it?” _

_ “7:30. Jack, get your arse out of bed.” _

_ “7:30? Why are you getting up so early? Ianto, come back to bed and screw me into the mattress before we go to work.” _

_ “Williams collapsed. We have to get to the hospital and get that hitchhiker out of him, before the medical staff discover it.” _

_ “Damn it. Where’s my…” _

_ “Clothes on the chair, coffee and pastry on the counter, boots and coat in the hall. Now get up so I can make the bed.” _

_ “You’re going to make the bed? We have to go.” _

_ “Blowjob says I can make it before you’re out the door.” _

_ “You’re on.” _

Pushing himself off the door, Jack walked over to the bed. He smoothed his hands over the perfectly tucked away sheets. Ianto had won the bet, of course. Didn’t have time to claim his prize before…before everything else. Jack’s hands pressed into the bed, supporting his weight. Vaguely, some small part of his mind noted that he was rumpling the sheets, and Ianto would be upset with him for that. Fuck.

Jack straightened up and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. It came away wet. He had always known this day would come, that one day he would have to pack away Ianto’s life. And really, he had always known that the day would come sooner rather than later. But some small part of him had ignored facts, statistics, reason - he had fooled himself into thinking that Ianto would be around with him for years to come.

Setting to work, Jack opened a box and assembled it, folding the cardboard tabs into each other. He cleaned out their special box first. No need for Gwen to walk in and see that. Briefly Jack toyed with the idea of keeping some of it. But, all this stuff had been his-and-Ianto’s. Now that there was no him-and-Ianto, it didn’t seem right. It wasn’t _just_ his, and so it wasn’t his. 

Jack sealed the box up with packing tape and slid it in the corner. Next box: assemble, fill, slide to the corner. That one was filled with their special costumes. The open closet door stared at Jack, who stared back. His own clothes filled half the closet. And to think a year and a half ago Ianto had been hesitant about Jack stepping foot in his flat. Now it was their flat. Except now it wasn’t.

Coming to a decision, Jack packed away almost all of his clothes with Ianto’s, keeping just a few for himself. Couple trousers, couple shirts, a pair of braces. He shoved those into the backpack he had brought, then taped shut the box and slid it across the floor. More clothes, novels, linens, office supplies, files, filled the next several boxes. 

Jack paused when he reached Ianto’s PDA and laptop. He would have to turn them over to Gwen: probably had some Torchwood information on it. Jack opened it and started going through Ianto’s picture and video files. There were some things he needed to delete before Gwen saw them. Methodically trashing all the intimate photos Ianto had stored on his hard drive, Jack paused. On the screen was a picture Tosh had taken around two years ago. She had come in early one morning and discovered the two men sleeping on the couch: Ianto half on top of Jack, Jack with his arms wrapped tightly around him. Tosh had snapped the photo before waking the two men and yelling at them for using her displays for watching James Bond movies. Jack smiled at the picture, and his fingers drifted up to trace Ianto’s face on the screen. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, so…so _young_. So, so young. His face was turned half into Jack’s neck, and it looked almost like he was trying to hide in Jack’s arms.

Jack’s chest constricted, but he fumbled around and grabbed a USB drive they had lying around. Quickly Jack downloaded all the photos left on the computer to it, then erased them from the laptop’s hard drive. He tucked the USB into his pocket as he stood, grabbed the laptop and PDA, and headed out to Gwen.

He found her in thei- the living room. He tried his best to ignore the empty space on the counter which his coffee maker used to occupy. He almost broke down, trying. Ridiculous. 

Gwen was sitting on the floor in front of the tv, packing DVDs into a box. Her eyes were red and face streaked with tears. She looked up at Jack as he walked in, smiling tightly. “Has all the Bond movies. He loved them. Never understood why.”

Jack shrugged, one hand in his pocket clutching the USB drive tightly. “Handsome, suave, man of mystery. Who wouldn’t?”

“Sounds like you.”

Jack shook his head. “Sounds like Ianto. Especially with those suits.”

Standing over Gwen, he peered down into the box she was filling, ignoring her glances at the computer stuck under his arm. “What are you…” 

Jack dropped to his knees, hands scrambling at the DVDs. “You…you’re…” Gwen. Damn Gwen. She had put the DVDs in wrong. He had gotten hell from Ianto when he had brought a stack of novels to his flat. Need to pack them upside down and in reverse order, so that when you pull them out they’re in order, ready to be shelved. Gasping around his tears, Jack tried to explain this to Gwen. “The…the order…Ianto…”

Gwen reached for Jack, trying to comfort him. He shrugged off her hands, clutching the DVDs in shaking hands.

“Jack, do you…”

Abruptly Jack stood, dropping the movies on the floor. “I…I can’t…” Jack ran into the bedroom, grabbing his backpack. As he passed Gwen on his way to the door she shouted after him.

“Jack! Jack, you can’t just leave me here! Jack!”

He paused, turning. “I’ll…I’ll come back. I just can’t,” his voice cracked and he paused, struggling to maintain some control. “I can’t. Not now. I need to…wander. For a bit. Just…I can’t be this _close_.” Jack stepped forward and kissed Gwen on a tear-streaked cheek. “I’ll come back,” he whispered in her ear, and then he left, pushing through the door and ignoring her shouts and pleas. 

**

That night, Jack checked himself into a hotel. He had a bag in his hand, which he tossed on the bed as he took off his backpack and boots. Sufficiently settled, Jack pulled his purchase out of the bag: a digital picture frame. Reaching into his pocket Jack removed the little USB drive. He plugged it in and waited. A little screen popped up with a percent to completion bar. As he waited for the photos to download, Jack brushed his teeth, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed with his backpack. Screen still only at 80%, Jack slowly opened his backpack. He paused for a moment, hand shaking and hovering in the air in front of the bag. Inside was something he had discovered midday, when he was searching for a clean pair of socks. He shoved his hand in, hand clenching around the item inside.

Out came a maroon, silk tie. It had been on the same hook as his red braces: Jack hadn’t noticed it when he grabbed them earlier today. Thumb rubbing up and down over the tie, Jack let the tears that had been threatening all day fall. Oh God, he _missed_ him. He missed him so much. He just needed to see him again, talk to him, laugh with him, have sex with him, feel him smell him _hold_ him…

Through blurry eyes, Jack saw the screen blink complete. An image appeared: a photo Jack had taken of Ianto as he stepped out of the shower. He looked so pissed off…Jack gasped out a cross between a sob and a laugh. Abruptly the photo changed, and Jack scrambled at the frame. Shit, how did you make the damn thing go back…Now Ianto stared out from the screen, stopwatch in hand and eyebrow arched. Jack remembered that day. Ianto had wanted to play with the stopwatch, but Jack had to deal with UNIT chiefs all day. By the end of the day Ianto had been so horny and pissed off that Jack _had_ to take a picture of him. He looked too adorable not to.

A new picture now: Ianto sitting on their…his…the couch at home. He had nodded off during a James Bond-athon. He had on nothing but pants, and his head was on the armrest, body contorted uncomfortably. After Jack took the photo, he had woken Ianto with a blowjob, and Ianto had climbed on top of Jack, screwing him senseless on the couch. That had completed their quest to have sex in every room of their flat. His flat. The flat. 

New photo: Ianto on a rare day off. They had spent it on the beach. In the picture Ianto was squinting at the camera, hand over his eyes in an attempt to see what Jack had called his name for. Jack had bought him those red swim trunks. They rented a hotel room on the beach. Made love as the waves crashed outside the window.

Jack breathed in shakily, turning to his side. He clutched the picture frame and watched as picture after picture flickered over its surface. The silk tie was still wrapped around his fingers. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he watched a procession of Ianto’s march in front of his eyes, but it was too much. The weight of grief and the day pressed down on him, causing his eyelids to grow heavy and mind to slow.

            The last one he saw before his eyes drifted closed was one of the two of them on Christmas Eve, last year. It was after Tosh and Owen had died, and the festivities were muted. Still, Gwen had insisted on decorating the Hub, mistletoe and all. Jack had stolen a sprig, and in the picture him and a flush Ianto were kissing under it. Ianto had too much to drink, his breath reeked of liquor, and the kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated. But it was perfect. Because Ianto was perfect. And Jack loved him.   
  



	2. Packing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto realizes Jack is really gone, and isn’t coming back. B/w Series 1 & 2.

Ianto stepped into his flat, shucking off his shoes and locking the door. It was late, and he was tired. But he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon, he knew that. He would stay awake, fantasizing that _he_ was just going to waltz in the front door. As if he would. He had never even been to Ianto’s flat when he had been around, why would he bother coming over now? Ianto knew all this, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Just like every other night since…

Angrily Ianto strode into his kitchen, making himself a sandwich. As his teeth tore into the soft bread, all those thoughts and memories he successfully ignored during the day came to mind, insistent and adamant.

_“Jack.”_

_ “Ianto! What is it? Looking for some stopwatch fun? Because honestly, I think you might have nymphomania. Should get it checked out…” _

_ “Jack. Who’s the Doctor?” _

_ … _

_ “Jack.” _

_ “Finished organizing the 1930s yet?” _

_ “Jack…” _

_ “Because then you can start on the ‘40s.” _

_ “Jack.” _

_ “I’ll see you tonight.” _

It was Jack’s fault it had never become more. Him and his insistence to keep things close to his chest, to shut out everyone around him. Him and Ianto were comfortable with each other, that’s all. But it wasn’t like they were…it wasn’t…Ianto tore another bite from his sandwich. Angry chewing: cathartic. Ianto rolled his eyes at himself. But if Jack would just _tell_ _him_ things sometimes…

            No. It was Ianto’s own fault it never became more, really. Once or twice Jack had seemed like he might have wanted to come over. But Ianto was…well, there was no use denying it to himself. He was scared. He was scared that if he let Jack come over, if he let Jack _in_ , then…then exactly this would happen. Jack would leave him, and he would feel hurt, and alone. Of course, for all of his work not to let Jack get too close, he had managed anyway. Now everyday Ianto got to go to work and be reminded of Jack. See every place they had screwed, or touched, or argued or laughed…

            Ianto stared down at his half-eaten sandwich in disgust. Suddenly he wasn’t so hungry anymore. He threw the sandwich out, perhaps with more violence than strictly necessary. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Ianto scrubbed at his face. This was stupid. Jack had left. So what. Ianto knew he might leave someday, and he knew that they were just fooling around. Sort of. Sometimes it felt like Jack might think it was more. No, no. It hadn’t felt like more: Ianto had fooled himself into thinking that it was more. Because obviously it wasn’t to Jack.

_“Ianto!”_

_ “Yes, sir?” _

_ “Mm, I love it when you call me sir.” _

_ “I’ll make a note of it, sir.” _

_ “Ooo, say it again…” _

_ “What would you like to do tonight, sir?” _

_ “Mmm. I was thinking you’d stay over, for a change? My bunk is small, but…” _

_ “All the better. Gives you an excuse to cuddle.” _

_ “Well, you know how much I love to cuddle.” _

_ “I’ve made a note of it, sir.” _

It wasn’t more. He was just a warm body to keep Jack company as he waited for his Doctor. And Ianto should have remembered that. Should have, but he didn’t. Jack had saved him, had taken him into his arms after Lisa and welcomed him back, held him, quieted the depression and self-doubt that had raged through him in the months that followed. And Ianto thought he was helping Jack, was giving him something he needed. But apparently Jack didn’t need anything from him. What he needed, Ianto thought bitterly, was only something his _Doctor_ could give.

Ianto went to his bedroom, stripping down and washing up before bed. He put in Goldfinger, just to cheer himself up. Bond movies hadn’t helped for the past two weeks, but who knows? Maybe it would help tonight. 

Ianto sighed, crawling into bed. He curled up on his side and stared at the wall, willing himself to sleep. He knew he wouldn’t. He hadn’t yet, any of these past nights. Not for any significant amount of time, and certainly not anything restful. 

At first, when Jack had first left, Ianto thought he had just gone Weevil hunting. Then they checked the CCTV footage and saw Jack running for the blue box. Ianto knew what it was, what it meant. He had worked at Torchwood One, after all. Still, Ianto had held out hope that Jack would return. After all, the Doctor was a time traveler. Jack could travel with him for years, then return to Torchwood a day after he left. But he hadn’t. Which means he probably wasn’t coming back. He had forgotten them, and Ianto, or he had grown tired of them, or felt betrayed by them.

Ianto’s hand drifted beneath the sheets as he remembered that last kiss. Jack had forgiven him in that moment, hadn’t he? Ianto thought…with the kiss…Ianto stroked himself, flaccid penis slowly growing harder. He _missed_ Jack. Missed his smell, and his arms wrapped tight around him, and even that stupid, goofy smile he wore whenever he pissed Ianto off. Ianto grunted softly as he continued to stroke.

_“Wait, Ianto, I was wondering…_ ”

_“Yes, Jack?”_

_ “Mm…keep doing that…I was wondering, you’re always bottom…” _

_ “I thought you liked being on top.” _

_ “Oh, Ianto, there, keep…but, no, I thought that, if you were interested…” _

_ “Would you like me to top tonight?” _

_ “Only if…damn it, Ianto…finish what you…started…” _

As he slid his thumb over the head, pressing down into the slit, Ianto thought back. His eyes fluttered closed. Jack’s hands on him, roving and caressing and feeling like they were trying to memorize each centimeter. Jack’s tongue, tracing a line down to…Ianto groaned. And Jack’s body beneath him, strong thighs pulling him in, deep, body clenching around him, beautiful face thrown back in ecstasy, lips red, cheeks red, cock red…

With a groan and a stutter of his hips, Ianto came in his hand. Fuck. He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned it up. Captain Jack Harkness. Ianto curled up into a ball, feeling like complete shit. Pathetic. Jerking off into his hand over the memory of some guy he would never see again…Ianto ignored the tears tracking down his face. It was his fault! He had told Ianto…he had…he thought he _needed_ him…

            Somehow, Ianto felt himself drifting off to sleep. The soft glow from the telly flickered over his face, illuminating the tears still slipping between closed lashes. If only he could just sleep, and forget. Forget the man that never really cared, that left him. He wasn’t good enough; he wasn’t enough to make Jack stay. He was just another in a long line of warm bodies, to be forgotten the second that bloody Doctor showed up. He was…he was just…nothing. Nothing to Jack.

_“Hey, Ianto? You awake?”_

_ … _

_ “Are you faking?” _

_ … _

_ “If you wake up right now, I’ll give you a rimjob.” _

_ … _

_ “Guess you’re asleep. Ianto, I just thought I’d…I care about you, you know? You’re gorgeous, smart, and funny…so, just to…if I ever leave, just know, it’s not because of you. And if I don’t have time to say goodbye, I’ll come back. Even if it’s just to say goodbye, I won’t just leave you.” _

_ … _

__“You’re…I…you’re beautiful, Ianto Jones. And I’ll come back. For you.”  
  
  
  



End file.
